


Let My Love Open the Door

by two_of_swords



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blue/Gansey - Freeform, Declan/Ashley, Everyone is older in this one, Helen/Orla, M/M, Niall and Aurora are alive, Pynch Week 2018, The Barns, family life, farm life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_of_swords/pseuds/two_of_swords
Summary: Widower Ronan Lynch is trying his best to raise two teenage daughters on his own. He's written off ever finding love again until a brief encounter with a stranger makes him change his tune. At least, temporarily.(Dan in Real Life AU)Pynch Week 2018 Day 7: Traditions/Home





	1. Grounded for Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is truly my first multi-chapter AU (I'm not counting my Lifeguard AU, because I technically started this one first and that one is only going to be two chapters long and was really supposed to be a oneshot). I'm posting the first chapter for Pynch Week, but I will continue updating regularly after. I'm hoping to post weekly until all of the planned chapters and epilogue are posted, but, you know, life may get in the way sometimes, so don't hold me to that.

Ronan Lynch wakes without an alarm on a cool Thursday morning in late September. He rolls over and reaches out to the other side of the bed, but his arms find nothing but the cookbook he was reading when he fell asleep. He blinks and then runs his hand down the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the duvet. It’s a habit he still hasn’t been able to break after seven long years. He sighs and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Okay,” he says, then stands and starts his day.

He showers and dresses in a black t-shirt and jeans and then heads downstairs to fold the laundry he had thrown in the dryer before bed. He brings the piles upstairs and stacks them in front of Jane and Opal’s bedroom doors. He listens at each one for a couple of seconds to see if they are awake yet. When he hears nothing, he checks his watch. It’s still too early for them to be up for school. He takes his own laundry back to his bedroom and packs his bag for the weekend trip to the Barns. He’ll have to remind the girls to pack their stuff before they leave so he can pick them up right from school. 

When he finishes, he heads back downstairs to drink a cup of coffee and scroll through his emails. Only one can be considered anything other than junk, but it barely piques Ronan’s interest. It’s a response to an inquiry to meet with a buyer for a national organic grocery store chain about Lynch Brothers Gourmet Foods. His father had sent some samples of Ronan’s jams and sauces and salsas and the buyer had liked them so much that he wants to meet with them soon at the Barns to see their operation. 

Ronan doesn’t care about the business side of things, that has always been more suited to his father and Declan. Ronan just wants to make good food, but Declan has fucked off to DC to become a politician, which is even worse, in Ronan’s eyes, than becoming a businessman. Matthew, also fucked off to DC, but he at least is an instructor at a boxing club, which is something useful. With his brothers hours away, carrying on the family business will likely fall to Ronan, if his father ever decides to retire.

He hears footsteps upstairs and then the shower turns on. He glances at the clock and then runs upstairs to make sure both girls are awake. He passes a groggy Jane in the hall and says good morning, but she closes the bathroom door in his face without answering. He stops outside Opal's room again and knocks softly right in the middle of the ominous “Do Not Enter” sign. When he gets no response, he pushes the door open and pokes his head in.

“Hey, runt, you awake?” He turns on the overhead light.

Opal stirs and stretches under the blankets, before sitting up and rubbing her eyes, her blond pixie cut sticking up in all directions. “Dad,” she whines, but for the moment, she at least still sounds like she needs him. He knows it won’t last.

“Get out of my room,” Opal says, once she’s sufficiently awake.

_Ah, there it is_ , Ronan thinks. “Don’t forget about harvest weekend. I need you to pack before school. Tell Jane when she gets out of the shower.” 

“Fine,” she waves him off.

“We’re only going to be gone for a few days, so don’t go overboard. Just use your small duffle bag.”

“I’m gay, Dad, not stupid,” Opal says.

Ronan doesn’t know what exactly she means by that, so he says, “yeah, well, me too,” and heads down to the kitchen to make their lunches.

Half an hour goes by and neither girl makes an appearance downstairs.

“Chainsaw!” Ronan calls.

“Don’t call me that!” Jane sings, bounding into the kitchen, her long dark hair flowing behind her. She grabs her lunch bag out of his hands.

“I’ll do whatever I want. I’m your father. Where is your sister?”

“She already went out to the bus stop.”

Opal’s a sneaky little shit, Ronan thinks, but he says, “What? Why? She didn’t eat breakfast and she forgot her lunch.”

Jane shrugs. “I’ll take it to her.” She holds out her hand.

“You’ll actually give it to her this time?” he asks, before handing the lunch bag and a piece of toast over.

Jane shoves the toast in her mouth without answering and heads to the mud room. Ronan can feel a headache coming on, but he follows her anyway. She hands him back the two lunch bags while she shrugs on her jacket and backpack.

“Don’t forget that I’m picking you guys up from school this afternoon so we can head straight to the Barns.”

“Opal’s not going to like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my secret to tell. Can I drive?”

“Not my… what? To the Barns? No way.”

“But I have a learner’s permit. How am I supposed to  _ learn _ if you never  _ permit _ me to practice?”

Jane’s a clever little shit, Ronan thinks. But before he can respond, he catches a glimpse of Opal out the window at the corner bus stop leaning in close to Martina, the Silva’s daughter, who just moved in three houses down at the beginning of the school year. Opal brushes Martina’s long hair off her shoulder and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle. Ronan squints harder as if that will help him understand what he is seeing.

“So can I?” Jane asks, just as the bus pulls up.

Ronan shakes the sight from his head. “Can you what?”

“Jane! Bus!” Opal shrieks from outside.

“Drive, Dad! God, are you even paying attention?” Jane demands, exasperated.

“I’ll think about it. Go!”

“That’s not a no!” She grins again. The door slams behind her as she runs for the bus.

Ronan watches to make sure she catches it before turning back to the kitchen. Then he stops and looks down. He’s still holding the two lunch bags. “Fuck,” he mutters, since there’s no one around to hear him and judge him for it. He grabs his keys off the hook and heads for the garage instead.

 

Ronan weaves through the early morning Henrietta traffic and arrives at Mountain View high before the buses. He parks his vintage BMW in the faculty lot, which is fine since he’ll only be a few minutes, and marches through the main entrance to the office.

Miss Johnson, the secretary, eyes him and the lunch bags warily from behind the counter before accusing, “Again?!?”

Ronan scowls at her as he slides the bags across the counter.

“Mmhmm,” she judges, before handing the bags to the office assistant. “Send a note to Jane and Opal Lynch in homeroom telling them to pick up their lunches in the office. They know the drill.” She turns back to Ronan. “So what’s the excuse this time, Mr. Lynch? Not that I’ll believe you. I don’t believe anyone.”

Ronan wonders if  _ Jane’s getting her license _ and  _ Opal’s getting a girlfriend _ qualify as valid parental crises. ”I never lie,” he says, instead.

Miss Johnson cackles.

“Hey, Jane and Opal will be out of school tomorrow and Monday. Did I already call it in?”

“What for?” She narrows her eyes at him.

“It’s harvest weekend,” Ronan responds, simply.

“Are you going to explain what that means or do I have to guess? I’m not a psychic, you know.”

“My family runs a farm up in Singer’s Falls. Everyone gathers there for a long weekend this time of year to help bring in the harvest and prep for winter. It’s tradition. And it’s this weekend.”

“Hmm. I’ll allow it,” she says, moving over to the computer and clicking away at it. “Actually, it’s already recorded.”

Ronan shrugs. “Couldn’t remember.”

“So a family farm, huh? Don’t tell me you’re one of the Lynch Brothers that makes that amazing peach chutney that comes in the fancy jars at that little gourmet food shop downtown?”

Ronan scoffs. “Lynch  _ Brothers  _ is a little misleading, but yeah, that’s my recipe.”

“Well done,” Miss Johnson nods, clearly impressed. It’s validation Ronan didn’t think he needed until he had it. “Feel free to send some samples back with your girls on Tuesday. Oh, who am I kidding? Just bring them with you when you drop off their lunches.”

“I’ll do that,” Ronan says, knowing it’s useless to deny the possibility. He knocks on the counter and heads out the door.

Jane and Opal’s bus pulls up as he walks to the car. Rarely does Ronan have the opportunity to see them interact with their friends outside of the house, so he stops to watch. When Opal steps off the bus, she’s holding Martina’s hand and Ronan’s heart stops.

“Is that Dad?” He hears Jane ask.

“Oh my god! What is he doing?” Opal shrieks, but she doesn’t drop Martina’s hand.

Ronan covers his face dramatically like he’s embarrassed to be seen by  _ them _ and walks quickly to his car.

 

He spends the rest of the day deliberately trying not to think about either of his daughters driving or dating. He is pleased to find both of their packed bags sitting neatly on their made beds and takes it as a sign that he’s done at least something right. He finishes packing the car for the weekend and then retreats to the kitchen to work on perfecting the maple pumpkin butter recipe they plan on introducing to their specialty Cabeswater line in time for Thanksgiving. He gets so caught up in his work that he doesn’t look up until he hears the school bus trundle by outside.

“Shit,” he says, looking up at the clock and then back down at the mess he’s made of the kitchen. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He pours the pumpkin butter into mason jars and hastily stacks all of the dirty dishes in one big pot, setting it in the sink to soak  _ for days _ . He rips off his apron and throws it on a hook as he rushes out to the garage, thanking God that he at least had the foresight to pack the car ahead of time.

He races to the high school and sees Jane sitting on the front steps by herself.

“You’re late!” She calls.

“Where’s Opal?”

“She got tired of waiting. She went to Nino’s. Can I drive?”

“No. Get in.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re late.”

“That’s not  _ my _ fault.”

“Just get in, Chainsaw, please.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jane growls, but she walks around to the passenger side and gets in the car. Ronan breathes a sigh of relief. One down, one to go. He drives to Nino’s.

“Stay here,” he tells Jane.

He hopes he can get Opal’s attention through the window without having to actually go inside, but he’s assaulted by the shear volume of youth occupying the old pizza joint. He walks the length of the windows, scanning each booth for blonde hair sticking out from under a familiar skull cap. The kids he passes stare at him like he’s some kind of a creeper. Some of them snap a picture of him with their phones. There is mix of Mountain View and Aglionby students, but they sit at distinctly separate tables. Finally, he spots Opal in the last booth, sitting on the same side as Martina and leaning in for a kiss.

Ronan panics. He bangs loudly, repeatedly on the window with both fists, startling everyone in the restaurant. The girls jump apart and Opal looks at him, horrified. He backs away from the window and waves her outside. His expression and the gesture must look as stern as he intended, because Opal picks up her backpack and heads for the door, her face bright red. He meets her there.

“What are you doing, you freak?!?” Opal shrieks.

“Get in the car.”

“No, I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You can’t just take us out of school. What about my studies?”

Ronan laughs. As much as he should be delighted by Opal’s concern for her studies, he knows it’s not the truth. Takes one to know one. “We both know this has nothing to do with you missing school and everything to do with you not wanting to leave…” He looks up and sees Martina’s face pressed against the window, watching, pining. “... that girl.”

“Her name is Marty. And I love her.”

Ronan scoffs and heads to the car. Thankfully, Opal follows. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I love her. I’ve only known her for three weeks, but it only took me three days…”

“You can’t know in three days.”

“Maybe she can,” Jane says, unhelpfully, as they approach. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the BMW with the window rolled down.

“No, no, no. What you’re feeling is not love. It is young and it is reckless,” He jerks his thumb in the direction of the passenger seat as he yanks the driver side door open. Jane scowls and scoots over.

Opal stands defiantly by the side of the car. “Just because you’re going to be sad and lonely forever doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

Hurt and anger simmers in Ronan. “Get in the car. Now. Or you are grounded for life.”

“You can’t do that!” Opal wails, but she gets in the car.

“Oh but I can.”

He turns back to Nino’s and sees Martina, Marty, whatever, mouthing “I love you” through the greasy glass.

Opal passionately palms the car window and murmurs “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over.

Ronan rolls his eyes and drives away, failing to stop completely at the stop sign on the corner. Jane huffs and crosses her arms.

It’s the longest thirty minute drive of his life.

 

When they arrive at the Barns, the gravel parking area is already full of cars. Some of the relief that Ronan usually feels being home is diminished by the attitudes of the two sullen girls taking up all of the space in the car, in his head, in his heart. He sighs and pops the trunk. Jane and Opal retreat immediately inside without helping to get their bags. Ronan sighs again and loads his arms with all of their stuff.

The front door opens as he approaches and his mother is there, looking ethereal in the warm light.

“Ronan!” She calls, delighted, like she hasn’t seen him in months, even though he was just here last weekend checking on the pumpkins.

“Hi, Mom,” he says, dropping the bags just over the threshold. He hugs her and she kisses his cheek.

“How are you?” She asks, her voice full of concern.

“Well, my girls hate me, but other than that I’m fine.”

“All teenagers hate their parents at some point.”

“That is not comforting.”

She pats his cheek. “They’ll come around. You did.”

Ronan finally smiles. He picks up his bag only and moves to head upstairs.

“Uh, no, honey. You’re in the special room.”

The special room is what his mother calls the old army cot set up in the laundry room. Ronan is less than thrilled with the accomodations. “Why?”

“Matthew has a guest coming,” she grins, full of hope.

“Fine,” he says, but her enthusiasm is catching. Matthew rarely brings guests to the Barns for harvest weekend and when he does, they don’t stick around like Ronan’s friends, who they can’t seem to get rid of. He walks into the kitchen, bag still on his shoulder and is immediately overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells.

“It’s about time,” Declan says, tapping his watch like an asshole.

“Leave him alone,” Niall scolds Declan.

“Ronan!” Matthew says, as ebullient as Aurora, and crushes him in a hug. He really hasn’t seen Matthew in months.

“Hey, little bro. I heard you have a friend coming. Who is it?”

Matthew grins. “It’s a surprise. You’ll find out tomorrow morning.”

Ronan briefly wonders why he has to sleep in the laundry room tonight then, but lets it go. He makes his way through the room. There’s a quick hug for his father, who presses a bottle of beer into his hand, a friendly shove to Declan’s shoulder for his earlier remark, and a fist bump for Gansey. He leans his elbow on Blue’s head and she pokes him in the stomach. He nods at Ashley who is too busy feeding a baby to acknowledge his presence, which is business as usual. Declan’s other children are chasing each other through the mass of bodies gathered. Helen and Orla are chatting happily with Jane and Opal at the table in the corner. They look up at him and wave, guiltily, in tandem. He gives them the stank eye back and takes a swig of his beer. Ronan is going to have to keep an eye on that situation. He doesn’t want Jane and Opal getting any new ideas on how to smash the patriarchy. They have enough of those already.

Ronan dumps his bag in the laundry room and returns just in time for Declan’s oldest boy to limp crying into the kitchen.

“What happened, champ?” Declan asks.

The boy cries harder and points in the direction of the foyer.

“Show me,” Declan says and follows the boy out. He returns seconds later holding up a purple duffle bag. “Whose bag is this? Lil’ D just tripped over it and banged his knee.”

“It’s mine,” Jane says, then she glares at Ronan. “Dad! Did you just leave our stuff out there?”

“Yes, I did,” Ronan admits, not sorry. The boy is fine. He’s already running around the house again.

“Way to go, Ronan,” Declan chastises.

Every head in the room turns toward him, waiting. For what, Ronan doesn’t know. 

Damn, it’s good to be home.

  
  



	2. Ronan Met A Hottie

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Ronan that night. He tells himself it has everything to do with the load of laundry his mother insisted on putting in the dryer right before bed and nothing to do with the echo of Opal’s taunt about his non-existent love life that he keeps hearing over and over in his head to the beat of the never-ending  _ clunk-thump  _ of the dryer. Jesus Christ did someone leave a fucking tennis ball in their pocket?

The dryer cycle eventually ends, but by then Ronan has moved on to thinking about how his feet are dangling off the end of the cot and about Jane doing something stupid while driving, like  _ texting _ or god forbid,  _ racing _ . He gives up on sleep shortly after dawn and rolls out of bed, his back screaming with pain. He splashes water on his face and brushes his teeth in the utility sink by the door, then squints into the tiny speckled mirror that dangles haphazardly from a wire coat hanger hooked on the rafters above the sink. He points to the bags under his eyes one at a time and mutters “Jane” and “Opal”. He might as well call them by name.

When he enters the kitchen, he’s surprised to find Opal sitting at the breakfast bar in her pajamas speaking softly to his mother, who is listening intently while also feeding the baby some lumpy, beige goo. Nice of her to let Declan get a good night’s sleep, he thinks.

“Morning, runt,” Ronan says, attempting to put an arm around Opal’s shoulder to give her a light squeeze. She ducks out from under his arm and glares up at him. She has bags under her eyes too. He wonders if he should take away her phone while they’re here or if that will just make things worse. “You sleep okay?”

Opal shrugs. Clearly, his mother has more luck getting her to talk.

“Honey, why don’t you go into town and get some pastries for breakfast?” Aurora says, as if reading his mind, but Ronan’s not ready to give up so easily. 

“You want me to make something?” 

He walks around to his mother’s side of the counter, mind whirring with possibilities. The baby - sitting in a decades old high chair that was probably recalled at some point in the mid-90’s for safety reasons - takes one look at Ronan’s scruffy face and starts screaming.

“Get lost, Ronan,” his mother says, plucking a couple of twenty dollar bills out of a drawer and shoving them into his hand. “It’s not a request.” She nods discreetly toward Opal, and raises her eyebrows.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. I left a mess in the kitchen at home yesterday. Kept me up all night thinking about it,” he lies. He sticks his pinky finger into the baby food and then in his mouth to taste and gags. “No wonder he’s crying.”

Opal’s eyes grow wide. “You’re going home?”

“Yeah, just for a bit. I’ll say hi to Marty for you if I see her,” Ronan teases, unable to help himself. He hears her frustrated shriek as he walks back to the laundry room to change. The baby cries even louder.

 

When Ronan gets outside, he realizes that his BMW is boxed in by his father’s old pickup truck that he uses to tool around the farm checking on things. He walks to the cattle barn and pops his head into the office. His father is bent over some vet records and feed receipts.

“Hey, Dad. Can you move your truck? I need to run home and Mom wants me to pick up something for breakfast on the way back.”

“Just take the truck,” Niall says, turning and tossing Ronan the keys.

Ronan sighs. He’d much rather drive his own car, but he’s too exhausted to argue.

The pickup sounds like it’s on its last legs and he feels the clutch slipping when he shifts gears, but the drive back to Henrietta still does wonders to clear his head. He rolls down the windows and lets the crisp autumn morning air roll over him, running a hand through his short curls, wishing for a moment that he still shaved his head. He feels better by the time he pulls into his own driveway.

The dishes he left in the sink were already getting crusty, so it’s probably a good thing he came home when he did. Plus, he left the jars of maple pumpkin butter on the counter in his haste to pick up the girls. He cleans up the kitchen and takes a tour of the house to make sure he didn’t forget anything else before he leaves. He locks the door behind him, balancing the crate of mason jars on his arm and when he turns around to head to the truck, Marty stands right in front of him, scaring the shit out of him. He juggles the crate and just manages to catch one of the jars before it topples over the edge and smashes on the sidewalk.

“Hi, Mr. Lynch,” she says, a wide grin on her face.

“Martina… um… Marty, hello.” He gets the jars back under control.

“Is that one of your recipes? Your strawberry rhubarb jam is to die for.”

“Uh… yeah… thanks.” Ronan tries to walk by her to get to the truck, but she blocks his path. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’d like to date your daughter, sir.”

God, Ronan wishes he was half as self-aware and brave at fourteen as Marty seems to be. His heart stutters as he stares down at her, considering his options. “Come back in two years,” he replies. When her face falls, he can barely stand it. “Here, take this.” He shoves a jar of pumpkin butter into her hands, as if that is an acceptable replacement for Opal, and brushes past her. He deposits the crate of pumpkin butter in the passenger seat, then climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away, leaving Marty standing in the yard, staring after him in disbelief.

Ronan fumes as he drives downtown to the bakery. Marty accosting him like that had Opal written all over it. Calling him  _ sir _ , complimenting his  _ jam _ . Obviously Marty had been coached. He should have taken Opal’s phone away when he thought of it earlier. What better punishment than forced family fun time with absolutely no distractions.

He parks in front of the bakery and slams the door. He goes in, gets two boxes of assorted pastries and croissants and gets out. He doesn’t even stop to admire the array of Lynch Brothers products on the shelf across from the glass display case. He gets back in the truck, setting the bakery boxes on top of the mason jars and turns the key, but the truck won’t start. Ronan curses and tries again. The engine cranks, but won’t run. He checks the gauges and sees that he has more than a half tank of gas, so that’s not the problem. He sighs and pops the hood. The truck sighs right back at him when he looks underneath. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking at. He’s always been better at operating vehicles than fixing them. When he was at Aglionby, he’d gotten into the habit of taking his cars to Boyds for basic repairs so he could ogle the cute townie mechanic who wouldn’t give him the time of day. That was well before he got the high maintenance BMW, of course, and before he met...

“Do you need some help? I know a little about cars.” A voice calls out. The accent is local, but harder around the edges, like it’s gotten used to being clipped.

“What about old beater farm trucks?” Ronan ducks out from under the hood and barely misses hitting his head. And then he thinks maybe he did hit his head because a beautiful man is standing in front of him and Ronan is certain there are none of those left in Henrietta. He is impeccably dressed in fitted navy chinos and a gray sweater over a light blue button up shirt that matches the color of his eyes. Ronan glances down quickly, partly to stop noticing the color of a stranger’s eyes and partly to assess his own attire - his dark jeans and navy henley suddenly feel downright slovenly.

“Sure. It’s all the same, right?” The stranger responds.

“Is it?”

“Not really, but I didn’t want to complicate things. You don’t look like you know what you’re doing.”

Ronan smirks. “Neither do you.”

The man grins. “Can I take a look?”

“Knock yourself out,” Ronan says, gesturing to the engine bay and stepping out of the way. He watches the man lean over the engine, careful not to touch anything, and scan the inner workings of the old truck. After a few minutes, he reaches down and delicately plucks a piece of metal from thin air, for all Ronan can tell.

“Clamp broke on the fuel hose and disconnected. I can reattach it, but you need a new one of these,” the man says, holding up the corroded part. Ronan can’t help but notice the boyish shape of his hands, the long fingers and large knuckles...

He shakes his head. “Great. And where can I get one of those?”

The man looks around at the nearby shops and nods in the direction of an auto parts store. “Come on.”

Ronan follows without question.

A little bell rings as he pushes open the door and strides confidently to the correct aisle and finds the part in no time. He briefly compares the new clamp to the old one and then nods, satisfied, and hands it to Ronan. “You gotta screwdriver in that old farm truck?”

Ronan just stares at him in awe.

“It’s a tool, you know. You use it to tighten screws,” the man says, making a twisting motion with his wrist to demonstrate.

Ronan huffs a laugh. “Fuck you. I know what a screwdriver is.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“I think there’s a toolbox in the back of the truck.” Ronan turns to head up to the counter to pay. The man tosses a travel size pack of cleansing wipes onto the counter alongside the clamp. Ronan side-eyes him.

“For my hands. They’re gonna get dirty.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Ronan says with a grin, handing the cashier a twenty dollar bill from his wallet in exchange for the small bag with their purchase.

They walk back down the street to where Ronan left the truck with hood raised. He reaches into the bed of the truck for his father’s toolbox and holds it while the man rolls up his sleeves. When he’s done, he opens the toolbox and rifles through until he finds the tool he needs, then digs the clamp out of the plastic bag. Ronan sets the toolbox back in the truck bed and follows the man around front to watch him carefully reattach the hose and tighten the new clamp with the screwdriver.

“There. Try it now.”

Ronan hops in the truck, leaving the door open, and tries again to start it. The engine turns over this time.

The man walks over to the open door. “You didn’t leak much fuel, so it should be safe to drive back home. Old truck like this probably needs the fuel lines replaced.”

“Thank God it’s not my truck.”

“That’s a shame. A little work and it’ll be back in good condition in no time.”

“I’ll tell my Dad.”

The man nods, but he doesn’t walk away. “Do you live here in town, by any chance?”

Ronan hands him the package of wipes. “Your chances are pretty good.”

“There used to be a liquor store around here somewhere…”

“Poldma’s?”

“Poldma’s, yes. It must have closed.”

“No, they just moved to the new strip mall over by Walmart. What are you looking for?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m looking for, to be honest.” He looks down and diligently cleans his hands with one of the wipes and for a second, Ronan thinks that maybe they are no longer talking about booze, but then he continues, “A bottle of wine or something. I’m visiting a friend. Feel like I should bring something.”

“Here. Take this,” Ronan says, grabbing a mason jar from the crate in the passenger seat and handing it to him. “They’ll love it, I promise.”

The man takes the jar and stares at it. “What is it?”

“Maple pumpkin butter.”

“There’s no label or anything.”

“No shit. It’s homemade.”

“Wow. Whoever made it must be a real Martha Stewart.”

“I made it.”

“Oh, you are smooth.”

Ronan snorts. “Actually, no, I’m not. I’m Ronan.”

The man grins and holds out his hand. “Adam.”

“Nice to meet you, Adam. Thank you for your help,” Ronan says, shaking his hand and then reaching for the door handle.

“Do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?” Adam asks.

“I thought you had somewhere to be?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay,” Ronan says, turning the engine back off and getting out of the truck. His family could wait another thirty minutes for breakfast. They head back into the bakery.

“I got it,” Adam says, when they approach the counter.

“You helped me. I should be buying you coffee.”

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re even,” Adam says, gesturing with the pumpkin butter. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” Ronan says. He moves awkwardly to a table in the corner, feeling unsure of himself. He doesn’t really know how to do this anymore.

“I bought a muffin, but I think they gave me a small plant,” Adam says, setting two cups of coffee and the world’s largest muffin on the table between them.

“Thanks,” Ronan says, taking a sip of his coffee. Then he tears off a chunk of muffin just to have something to do. It’s dry and Ronan thinks about how he could make it better. He grabs the jar of pumpkin butter and pops it open.

“Guess I’ll get a bottle of wine after all,” Adam deadpans.

“I have more out in the truck. Go get a knife.”

Adam gets up without protest and brings back a plastic knife. Ronan spreads some of the pumpkin butter on the chunk of muffin and hands it to Adam.

Adam accepts it from Ronan’s hand and takes a bite. He closes his eyes and groans a little. “Oh wow. That’s really good.”

Ronan grins and looks down at his boots. “I’m still working on it.”

“That doesn’t seem very efficient.”

“I’m a perfectionist.”  _ Fuck _ . He’s never admitted that to  _ anyone _ .

“Well, I think it’s perfect already. For what it’s worth.”

Adam smiles and nudges Ronan’s foot with the toe of his casual suede shoe and Ronan thinks that it’s actually already worth quite a bit. 

“You mind telling my daughters how great I am?”

Adam’s eyes narrow slightly. “Daughters. Huh.”

“Two of them. Both teenagers.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“Yeah. Especially when I’m raising them on my own.”

Adam’s mouth makes a silent “o” shape, so Ronan throws him a bone. “I’m a widower,” he explains, rubbing his hand along the stubble on his chin.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. 

Ronan rubs his stubbled chin. “It’s been seven years.”

“What are their names? Your daughters?” Adam asks after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Chainsaw and Opal,” Ronan says, without thinking.

Adam’s eyes grow wide.

“I mean Jane and Opal,” Ronan corrects. “God, she’d kill me if she knew I just called her that.”

“Okay, there’s a story there.”

“When she was a baby and she first started to recognize the sound of her own voice, she would make this noise all the time that sounded like a chainsaw.”

“A _ Jane- _ saw _ , _ ” Adam says with a snort.

Ronan’s heart surges. “My husband used to say the same thing.”

Adam shoves another hunk of muffin in his mouth like he’s trying to shut himself up.

“What’s Jane like?” he asks, once he’s finished chewing.

“She’s so fucking smart. Smarter than me. She’s already researching colleges and I don’t have a clue how to help her other than to pay for it. I’ll have to sell a shit-ton of pumpkin butter.”

Adam laughs and nods. “And your other daughter?”

“Opal. Yeah. She’s just like me. I was a nightmare at her age.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” Adam smiles and nudges his foot again.

“It’s true. Just ask my parents.”

“Are you saying you’re not a nightmare now? How did you turn it around?”

Ronan knows Adam meant it as a joke, but he answers seriously. “I finally learned how to accept myself enough to come out. I met someone shortly after and I married him as soon as I legally could.”

“And then you adopted? You must have been…”

“Young? Yeah, we were. We both wanted kids as soon as possible though and nothing was going to stop us. We found a surrogate. The same one for both girls. They were born two years apart. We settled here in Henrietta. He did freelance graphic design from home and I taught myself how to cook and we raised our girls. But then he got sick and then he was gone and I’ve been on my own with the girls ever since. It’s taken a while…”

Adam’s phone suddenly vibrates loud enough to startle them both. He pulls it out of his pocket and squints at the screen. “I have to take this. Sorry. Don’t go anywhere.” He stands and walks to the door to take the call outside.

Ronan lets out a breath and runs both hands through his hair. What is he doing? He’s barely talked to his family about any of this, let alone a complete stranger.

Adam comes back in after a few minutes, a complicated look on his face. “I completely lost track of time. I have to go.” He grabs the mason jar and clumsily attempts to put the lid back on.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Ronan says, picking up the rest of their trash and throwing it away before heading outside to the truck. Adam follows. They exchange jars.

“Well, good luck to you and your girls,” Adam says, then he turns and walks away.

Ronan panics. “I’m sorry. I talked so much. I didn’t even ask you anything about yourself. I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re really not,” Adam says, as he moves to open his own car door. “Goodbye, Ronan.”

“Adam, wait. Can I at least get your phone number?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Adam sighs.

“Because of the place you have to be?” Ronan asks.

Adam nods.

“All we’d be is two people finishing a conversation.”

“Okay,” Adam says, taking Ronan’s phone out of his hand and typing his name and number into the contacts. “Call. If you want. Or don’t. It’s up to you.” He gets into his car and starts it, then rolls down the window. “Please call.”

 

Ronan can’t wipe the grin off his face as he drives back to the Barns. He also can’t stop staring at the name, Adam Parrish, in his phone. He’s even polite to Officer Gray when he pulls him over for texting while driving. Ronan gives him a jar of pumpkin butter - tells him to put it in his oatmeal - but Gray still writes him a ticket.

The front door of the old farm house opens as Ronan loads his arms up with the crate of mason jars and the boxes of pastries from the bakery. The ticket flutters to the floor. He’ll have to remember to get it later.

“There you are!” Declan calls. He meets Ronan half way down the sidewalk and takes the pastries. “Matthew is trying to introduce your friends to his guest. It’s hilarious.” He pauses and stops walking. “Why are you smiling?”

“I met someone.”

“Really? When? Where?”

“Just now. In town. When I stopped at the bakery.”

“That’s great news, bro,” Declan says, slapping Ronan hard on the shoulder. “Let’s go save Matthew.”

When they walk through the door, Ronan can see that most of his family is gathered in the kitchen making a commotion. Gansey hangs back just outside the doorway.

“Gansey, Ronan met someone at the bakery,” Declan calls.

Gansey beams. “Way to go, Lynch. What’s he like?”

Ronan sets the crate down on the bench next to the door. “Uh… well…” And then Ronan realizes just how little he actually learned about Adam during their hour-long conversation. “He’s… educated. Well dressed. Incredibly good looking.”

“Did you get his number?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“When are you gonna call?”

“God, I don’t know. I haven’t done this in so long.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Blue asks, popping out of the kitchen.

“Ronan met a hottie at the bakery,” Declan calls.

Blue whoops. “About time!” 

“He’s trying to decide when to call,” Gansey adds.

“Let’s ask Matthew’s friend,” Declan laughs.

“No, Declan, stop,” Ronan says, following Declan into the kitchen. He looks up as he crosses the threshold and comes face to face with a completely overwhelmed Adam Parrish.

“Hi,” Ronan says softly.

“Hello,” Adam replies.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More borrowing from canon/repurposing canon to fit my needs in this story - this time Adam and Gansey's meet cute. The car repair stuff is probably not totally accurate even though I did do some research on it. Oh well. This is for fun and for free. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you don't mind that I'm using Jane for Chainsaw's real name even though it is a well-loved nickname in canon. It just worked too well with what I'm planning for this AU.


End file.
